


The Best Things in Life Aren't Free

by meg_nificent



Category: Agent Pendergast Series - Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2020-11-28 16:51:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20969861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meg_nificent/pseuds/meg_nificent
Summary: Corrie learns how complicated the Pendergast brothers are, and that one of them loves her.





	1. When The Right One Loves You

Another breakup. Jesus, was she trying to break a record? At least Corrie instigated this one.

Oh... _Christ_, who was she kidding? She instigated most of them, always with some flimsy excuse about how finals were too overwhelming right now, her workload was too much right now, and sometimes the truth: she just wasn't into this right now.

It wasn't always Corrie doing the dumping, of course. She was accidentally very capable of driving some good ones away. She inherited that from her mother. The one that surprised - and hurt - the most was Will, who was tall and handsome and blonde. Tan, yes, and had a sexy shoulder-to-waist ratio. And a light but drawling accent that made no secret he was from New Orleans, which absolutely did not mean anything, whatsoever, at all.

Tonight she was in the tiny bar near her apartment that was used to seeing her after she dissolved a relationship, and the bartender set down a shot of vodka without Corrie asking. She didn't complain; just tossed it back.

“So this must be the end of Charlie,” Susie remarked from behind the bar. Corrie liked when she bartended- she kept the music from blaring, and chose better Pandora stations than screaming rock or top 100 hits and shit like that. Corrie could sit and brood in peace.

She glanced at the other end of the bar, after awhile had passed, as she'd switched from shots to vodka on the rocks with fresh lime juice and a few cherries, to slow herself down a bit. The tartness of the fresh lime made it impossible to slam. And... that guy down there was watching with a small smile playing across his lips. He was older than her, but she couldn't tell by how much. And he may not have been hot, but he could certainly be considered handsome. Scars were usually a bonus, and he was rocking a wicked one that didn't diminish his features.

She'd glanced over a couple times, and while he hadn't been looking at her _every_ time, her cheeks got hot on the occasions he had. Now she didn't look away, and raised an eyebrow at him when it was clear that there was interest in his eyes.

“Can I help you?” she asked sarcastically, sipping her drink and leaning back. Ordinarily she would claim she didn't have time for this, which was true. Graduation was about a month away, her mother expected to stay at some nice hotel for _free_, and like hell was that happening. But then she'd expect Corrie to spring for the whole thing, as she assumed her daughter had gotten rich because she went to such a good school and had such a nice apartment. 

(To be fair, Corrie hadn't asked for the apartment. She'd shown up to one of their rare dinners sporting a black eye and finger-shaped bruises on her wrists. She didn't mention the bruise from getting kicked in the stomach as she fought her muggers. She did some damage, but it _was_ two against one, so she lost her purse, phone, and jewelry. Pendergast was quietly furious, in that smooth way of his, where no emotion flashed across his face as he took a calm sip of wine and said, “I believe I suggested that ... _area_, Miss Swanson, was well-known for its high crime rates when you first moved.” And so, with no say in the matter, she was moved by the end of the week.)

But Corrie’s own interest was piqued now. She couldn't exactly claim that she was too bummed about her newfound freedom, and she'd never seen this guy in here before. And she might have been slightly tipsy. Definitely not very.

He considered her. “Perhaps you can.” His voice was smooth, and... _something_. She couldn't put her finger on it. He slipped from the barstool just as smoothly, strolling over to her, and Corrie swallowed.

The man gestured at Susie to refill her drink as he sat down beside her.

This was not how Corrie had seen her night going, and she flashed him a knowing look. “Don't get your hopes up, buddy,” she warned, “I’m a respectable girl who doesn't fall for strangers.” She took in his immaculate suit, perfect as though it had been tailored to his skin. “Especially not ones who look like they work on Wall Street and evade their taxes.”

“And a smart one, too,” he replied, then ordered an expensive scotch for himself. “I simply have a question that only _you_ can answer.”

Corrie snorted, but grinned. “Sure, shoot,” as her drink arrived. “Hope it's about textbook federal law enforcement, otherwise you're out of luck.”

“I only wanted to ask what name could possibly deserve to belong to such a lovely woman,” he said innocently, but the laugh lines at his eyes crinkled with mirth.

Corrie choked on her drink and a surprised laugh. “Oh, you’ve got to be joking!” she burst out.

The man’s amusement had a strange edge to it, she could feel it. “A simple question,” he replied.

She sighed and grinned, sticking out her hand for a formal introduction. 

“Corrie.” When their hands met, their fingers lingered.

“Corrie,” he repeated thoughtfully.

“And what name deserves to be slandered by belonging to such a smooth criminal like you?” she shot back smartly.

“Arthur.”

“Arthur? Jesus, you're officially the first Arthur I've met under _ninety_,” she snickered.

“You come here often,” he remarked. She noticed it wasn't a question, but she relaxed a little anyways. 

Easy on the eyes, he had lighter hair, but the lighting was too low for her to tell the exact color. Maybe ginger, or strawberry blonde. He had clever blue eyes that were fixed on her like she was a puzzle, and he was solving her without a word. Which was... _strange_, but definitely got her attention. He might have been forty, but she really couldn't tell. He carried himself like he’d been raised by royalty a hundred years ago, but just scanning his features... which, okay, she may have been more tipsy than she thought, but there was something _familiar_ about him. Whatever it was, it made her heart beat a little faster.

“How would you know?” Corrie challenged.

“Easily, Corrie, all it takes is a little observation. People greet you like they know you here. They call you Clarice Starling and ask how long it will be before you head to Quantico. The lovely bar maid knows when your romantic liaisons have crumbled,” he said simply. “I expect you sit in the same spot every time you return, in fact. You must attend a very fine school, Corrie. You have six piercings in each ear, yet I only see one pair of lovely silver hoops, and you no longer utilize your nose piercing. That,” Arthur said in his rich voice, “is how I know.”

A hot blush had consumed her cheeks and probably dipped below her collar. No one had pinned her so quickly, decimated her walls as if they knew her like that. 

Well - no one but -

She shut down the thought, because when she’d thought about Pendergast lately, how he hadn't visited or even called her in months, and how for part of those she believed he was dead - well. And he hadn't even called her himself, it was Proctor who told her he was alive a month after everyone else knew. It was quick and clinical, and only took one minute before he hung up. So when she thought about him, it was conflicted and sad and lonely. And no boyfriend had ever really been able to change that. So, she’d made a mental guillotine to cut every venture there in half.

And yet this stranger had just blown her mind, almost as much as the last time it happened.

“I would tell you all the shady stock market heists you’ve orchestrated, or whatever under-the-table crap I’m sure you’ve been involved in,” she shot back, yet she was clearly affected, “but I guess you're not so easy to read, huh?”

And now she got a wide, pleased smile that made her very warm. “Enough of that. Tell me things about you that I don't know, Corrie.”

She did. They ordered more drinks as she talked about Medicine Creek, and how she had been a rebellious teenager with a drunk mother and absent father, how she was quite familiar with the sheriff, and not for the right reasons. She didn't mention the murders, lest he press for details.

He told her about traveling to places she'd never heard of, historic sites that he knew like the back of his hand. Arthur teased her about her career choice: “So what drove this desire to be an FBI agent? A great love of the law, a desire to be a hero? Was it family? A friend, or a _mentor_?” and her clipped response was that she really just liked “Silence of the Lambs.” He didn't talk about his own family, but he quoted authors and poets she didn't know, in languages she didn't speak. It was hot.

And then, as she grew warm with booze (definitely only booze), he leaned in, which made her lean in too, because why not? And he whispered, “I would like very much to kiss you now, Corrie Swanson.”

She grinned and nodded, and his lips touched hers once before he cupped the back of her neck and pulled her closer, and gently pressed his mouth to her own. His lips were warm with the scotch, and when his thumb came to rest beneath her lower lip and pulled down on it, she let her mouth fall open. His tongue brushed hers, slow and hot, and when he dropped that hand to her thigh, her gasp was swallowed by his mouth as he licked it up like honey. 

Arthur stepped down from his seat and moved between her legs, erasing any space left between them. Her sudden gasp made her pull back for a second, because she actually needed air to finish gasping. His blue eyes pinned her with steel she'd only seen in one other man's eyes-

Nope, not going there. Corrie grabbed his shirt and crushed her mouth back onto his, slamming her eyes shut as he stroked up and down her thigh. She let him swallow her noises, keening into his mouth with need.

A throat cleared loudly beside them, and they barely broke apart.

Susie was standing with her hands on her hips, a stare of disbelief aimed at Corrie. But her voice was firm. “Hey, how about you two do what normal people do: take this shit to the bathroom and pretend it's not like you're gonna fuck, but then you definitely fuck, okay? I have customers who didn't pay for a skin flick on a _Thursday_, guys, seriously.”

Arthur ignored her, but when his mouth touched her again, it was to brush her ear as he murmured, “Corrie. Come home with me.”

That sounded incredibly stupid, but if she got naked and climbed onto his lap here, Susie would ban her for life. So she whispered _okay_, and he returned to his barstool with a pleased, nearly evil smirk. “Finish your drink, and I'll have the car brought around.”

She slammed the whole thing in under a minute as he paid both of their tabs, leaving a generous tip.

Susie watched him suspiciously as he helped Corrie from her stool. Shit, she hadn't done something this reckless since she was a freaking _freshman_. It was amazing.

His arm slid around her waist as they walked out, holding her to him like a vice. “We're going to have fun, Corrie Swanson,” he smiled, his voice so loaded with promise that she stumbled dizzily.

A very nice black sedan pulled up to the curb, and she felt another, stronger wave of dizziness hit her. As he helped her into the back seat and settled beside her, she distantly realized, _I never told him my last name was Swanson._

*

Corrie woke up slowly, her limbs heavy. “Wha...at, uh. Where...” She tried to sit up, but it felt like she was doing sit-ups under water. The room looked like some rich dude’s private library. She was laid out on a chaise lounge, wearing yesterday's clothes. She remembered getting in the car. Figuring out he knew something about her that he shouldn't, and then her eyes sliding shut without permission. Sunlight poured in through many windows that went all the way to the vaulted ceiling, and the sun was high enough for her to realize she had missed at least two core classes already. _Shit_.

Something was wrong. They had left the bar pretty early, and it was obviously afternoon, so she shouldn't still feel drunk. But she was definitely under the influence of... _wait_. Could he have put something in her drink when she wasn't looking? But when wasn't she looking at him, into his eyes?

... Oh. When he had his tongue down her throat, and she was pressing her hips against him like a -

_Fuck_.

A glass of water was set in front of her, and she looked up with difficulty.

“You’ll need that, if you can hold the glass,” Arthur said dismissively. “You slept a long time, Corinne. I had hoped to make a phone call yesterday, but you must have been drunker than I thought - usually the drug wears off in twelve hours, but you, my dear, truly set a record.” Yeah, she was good at that.

“Arthur?” she said thickly. How did he know my name was Corinne? _Maybe stole my wallet, saw my license...___

He smiled an empty, chilling smile then. “Oh, Miss Swanson. That is not my name, thank _God_.” He had a glass of scotch in his hand, and sipped it thoughtfully. “Yes, I had hoped you would wake sooner, but you’ve only delayed my plans, not ruined them. Now that you've rejoined us, we can continue.”

“Plans,” she repeated. “Who... _are_ you?”

His smile thinned, and now she realized that yeah, she should be really scared. “No one, to you. But someone to others.”

“How do you know me?” Corrie’s mind began to work faster. “Why am I here?”

His eyes darkened, and she realized they were two different colors - neither blue. One silver, one like a shark’s dead eyes. It sparked fear in her brain, but she couldn't remember why. “Someone - oh, let's not mince words, my _brother_, stole something from me. He’s very good at that, you know, he's done it my entire life. He stole the woman I love, and hid her from me. Then he stole the son I want to love, and hid him as well. I tried to be a good man, Corrie, and prove to the mother of my child that she could love me as much as I love her. But my brother - my noble, clever, _good_ brother, stole that chance from me.”

She chose her next words carefully. “But I don't understand how that involves me.”

“He stole the woman I love,” the man repeated, “so, I stole the woman he loves.”

She stared at him, and flatly said, “Okay, I seriously have no idea _what_ you're talking about.”

His mismatched eyes widened. “You don't realize who my brother is,” he said slowly, his smile growing. “I promise you, Miss Swanson, in a few minutes, you’ll remember my name.”

He rose from his perch on the table and strode to a desk, grabbing a cell phone and dialing quickly.

She imagined a few rings before the man's voice dropped a little. “Why, brother,” he purred, “how long it's been since I've heard your voice. I imagine it each day, but such joy it brings me to hear it now.”

He paused, as his brother likely responded. “No, no, I may be cruel, but she's so... _lovely_, I could never lay a finger upon her to cause her harm.”

This must have drawn the response he wanted, because his smile became smug, and his voice sounded like he was a phone sex operator. “Why, she's here with me. _Goodness_, you must be off your game if you're asking me silly questions like that.” A few more moments passed, then he looked at her. “Corrie, dear, I'm afraid my brother _insists_ on hearing your voice. Do you mind?”

And then Corrie understood - he didn't sounded like he had last night - he’d had very non-regional diction, but since she’d woken up, he sported a lilting New Orleans drawl, refined to a perfect mirror of -

Oh, fuck. Oh, _fuck_. Corrie thought she was going to be sick. But she tried to keep it off her face, and raised a hand to take the phone. “Diogenes,” she said shakily. “Cough it up.”

His name drew a high, surprised laugh from him. “Here she is. She tastes like cherries,” he added, just to be an asshole. And with a smile she wanted to turn into a Joker smile with a straight razor, he set the phone in her trembling hand.

She had to use both hands to hold it to her ear. “Hey,” she said weakly.

“Corrie,” Pendergast said hesitantly, as if he was being fooled.

“Remember that time you told me about your brother, but you were so vague and ominous that I said you made him sound like a comic book super-villain, and that you were such a drama queen, and how you missed your calling and should have done Shakespeare?”

“Corrie-“

“Well, guess what,” she continued, “your brother is a comic book super-villain, and I'm sorry for being an asshole and blowing you off.”

“Please don't apologize.” Then, “Corrie, you must tell me if you're all right -“

“I'm fine -“

“Has he hurt you? What has he done to you?” Pendergast plowed on, and she could hear stress in his voice. That meant he didn't sound like he was ordering tea - he sounded like he was in a hurry at Starbucks, so yeah, that was meltdown-level stress when trying to read him.

“I'm not hurt,” she promised. “Little druggy. Nothing bad. ‘Cept the situation, and all. Missed all my classes today.”

“Miss Swanson.”

Ah. He’d reverted to old-school, when she was a teenager and not his brother's captive.

“It's Saturday. You have been his prisoner for two days.”

She started feeling lightheaded again. “Aw, shit.”

“Has he laid a finger on you?” He demanded.

“Not since I woke up, no. He hasn't tried to pull anything.”

The silence on the other end was like walking on hot coals. “And before.” Now he didn't even bother to hide that those words made him sick.

“Can we talk about this in person?” she mumbled, and even saying that made her hate herself. “It's some fucked-up shit going on right now, Pendergast.”

Diogenes watched her as he sat on the desk, his eyes hungry to know what was being said.

“Corrie,” he said softly, and she could hear the oath in his words. “I promise you, Corrie, I will find you. I _will_. I was wrong to let him live, but I will not make that mistake again.”

“He, um,” and now she dared to let herself go there. “He’s got some pretty misplaced reasons for me being here, you know. He has some notions about - um. Some stuff he thinks you might... anyways, I know he's way wrong. Right?”

Pendergast was quiet again. Then, so softly she almost missed it, “No. He is not.”

Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened to respond, but her words failed her. Finally, she managed to force out, “You don't even know what he -“

“Yes, I do.”

A high blush climbed her cheeks, and she was glad he couldn't see it.

Diogenes, on the other hand, could.

“Time’s up,” he called, dismounting and making his way over.

“He says time is up,” she whispered.

“Do as he says, do _everything_ he says so he won't harm you,” he told her quickly. “But, Corrie - I _will_ speak to you soon. I hope the next time, it will be to your face. If not, I will try to call.”

“Everything?” Corrie said dryly. “That's a lot of ground you're covering there, _Special_ _Agent_.”

“Not -“ he sighed, frustrated. “You know what I mean.” Corrie flinched. In hindsight, it probably wasn't the best time to needle him. “Be safe. Be smart, Corrie. I am so very close to finding you, I promise. And then, we are going to have a very long conversation. And.”

She waited. “And...?”

“Call me Aloysius,” he said softly. “Please.”

“Okay. Then never call me ‘Miss Swanson’ again,” she replied quietly.

“Corrie -“

The phone was snatched from her hand swiftly. “You're welcome, Aloysius. I leave her alive, I let you talk to her... one might think I was helping out family. You may have her back, brother, but you know it will not be free.”

He listened to his brother for a moment. “Perhaps. If she stays on her best behavior, we'll see.”

After waiting another moment, his voice dropped icily. “Constance,” he said firmly. “And my boy. Tell me where you hid them, and you may have your little love back. Do not make me remind you what happens when you _refuse_ me. Think about how much you love cherries before you reject my offer.” He ended the call.

“Well,” he declared. “You’d best hope he loves you as I love Constance, otherwise you’re in a bit of a bind.

“Your movement will come easier in a few hours,” he continued. “I just needed to sedate you until you were secured.”

“I prefer vodka to whatever the hell you use,” she muttered.

A look of disdain now. “I do suppose you were drunk enough to guarantee compliance; however, I do not take risks based solely on supposition.”

“He’s going to kill you this time,” she heard herself say out loud.

Diogenes hummed thoughtfully. “He can't make up his mind on that, Miss Swanson. Don't hedge your bets - he has told many lovely ladies that before, yet here I still stand.”

Yeah, well. ”He's never lied to me before.” _Maybe, if you're not lying to me, he’ll do it because-_

Nope. _Nope_, just because she was tangled in a seriously fucked-up family feud, didn't mean she could start thinking about it. It wouldn't help - it would get her hopes up, and if something went wrong, it would kill her.

He studied her carefully. “You have the freedom to roam this wing. That is because you cannot escape: I have made sure of it. I will even give you permission to try, and I will not punish you when you fail.” He meandered to her side and knelt. His mismatched eyes held hers as he considered her. “I understand what my brother sees now, although I am still surprised. You don't particularly fit his type. He doesn't often stray from women a little... better than you, to be frank. Don't worry,” he added, “I don't plan to hurt my brother by hurting you the way you may fear, Corinne. Never worry that I would.”

Corrie swallowed forcefully. “Cool, bro. Thanks.”

He tucked her hair behind her ear, and she made a simple decision.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, as he stood. “Food will be brought to you soon.”

She had already taken a scan of the room as he rose and departed. “Yeah, doll, see you soon.”

As he made his way out, Corrie made up her mind in under a minute: Pendergast wasn't going to get to her in time. 

She was gonna have to kill Diogenes Pendergast herself.

*

Her first and second attempts failed, as he was still alive when she executed her third. It was a swipe with a fire iron, or whatever it was called, and she missed. The wooden door beside his head exploded, her weapon lodged in it after her firm swing, and then she was subject to his fury.

At first, it was just strikes to the face, which she could handle - her mother had dished harder, she could take it. Forehand, backhand, none of it was a scary surprise.

But then came a knee to her side, a hand to cover her nose and mouth, her whole body turned into an outlet for his anger, and she eventually just went limp.

Corrie was exhausted, her throat swollen from where he’d grabbed her by the neck and slammed her against the wall. He let go of her when he realized she would die if he didn't, and she fell to the floor, gagging and choking.

His fingers worked rapidly, and he shoved the phone to her face as she gasped for air. “Tell him,” he instructed coldly. “Let him know that this wasn't my choice. You brought this upon yourself.”

There was only one ring before the call was answered. “Let me talk to her.”

“Oh, no, we're all good,” she coughed. “It's just me, no middle man. Whatcha doing?” She knew the distress in her voice was clear. “I'm bored. Tell me a story.”

“Corrie - What happened?” he demanded. “Talk to me, Corinne, tell me what he’s done.”

“I tried to kill him,” she said plainly, coughing her lungs up. “Three times, now.”

Silence stretched. Diogenes chuckled - “Three? How could I miss one?”

“So then he grabbed me by the throat and threw me against the door and choked me to the point of death, but then he stopped so that he didn't kill me, because we both know he would never commit murder, right?” Corrie was still struggling for breath, wrapped around herself miserably. “I tried to hit him with that fire-pokey thing. I'm sorry. I knew he'd be pissed if I failed, but if I succeeded, he'd be dead. Didn't think he'd let me talk to you, though.”

She hated how her name sounded on his tongue right now. “Corrie... he choked you? He hurt you.”

“Yeah, we established that part, he beat the shit out of me,” she groaned. With a glare at his brother, she snapped, “Get the fuck out. You wanna let me talk to him? Then get out and let me talk to him. What do you think I'm going to do - give him the password to your email? Like it takes a genius to figure it's i<3constance. Get out.”

He obeyed silently, and she held the phone to her ear desperately. “He's gone. Don't talk to me like I'm some victim, Pendergast. Talk to me like we're in a bar. Make a joke. Act like you want to make me laugh.”

“I do.” He spoke so quietly, like Diogenes could hear him and would use his words to cause harm.

“I just told you not to talk to me like I’m a fucking victim, Aloysius,” she snarled, bruised and busted and just, Lord’s fucking name, tired. “Just... talk to me. I haven't talked to a real person in days. Talk to me like yours is the last voice I’ll ever hear, because it might be.”

She wasn't sure what he tried to express when he exhaled sharply, but it made her feel like she won.

“Everything I touch, breaks,” he said finally.

“Oh, fuck you, I'm not broken,” she scoffed, then conceded she had at least one broken rib as she began choking on her own lungs. “Jesus, I may die tomorrow, and yet it's all about you. I’m not even allowed to get murdered on my own. It's always about you. So talk to me like a normal person who isn't going to be strangled by your brother within the next day or two. Can you please act normal until Dio-dickwad comes back in?”

Another annoying span of silence, and Corrie truly contemplated throwing the phone, just so something would break.

“I have never been normal, Miss Swanson,” he eventually hedged.

“No, no, that was normal!” she assured him immediately. “You just said something normal people would say. Also, we had a deal, Aloysius. You want me to switch back to the P-word?”

“Corrie.” Now his voice was gentler. “I'm sorry.”

“And I'm a waffle. Doesn't mean anything. What was the last movie you saw?” Corrie threw back.

“Lawrence of Arabia.”

That left her a little shocked. “You - you watched it? I - when?”

“Last night,” Pendergast said flatly.

Now Corrie was the one left speechless. “Oh,” she said finally.

“I understood your association with Lawrence immediately,” he continued. “It took a fresh viewing, of course, and the aspect of watching it as you must have the first time, but I can see it now. An absent father, a feeling that your roots were planted in the wrong soil, the desire to belong somewhere, yet each place is wrong -“

“Shut up,” she grumped. “My favorite movie of all time is not a freaking _therapy_ session.”

“I watched it,” he replied, ignoring her, “and I learned a bit about you, Corrie. I’ve seen the film before, of course, but now I've seen it the way you saw it.”

“Yeah, and you probably first saw it at the original premiere,” she scowled maliciously.

“I confess I was very young, and I believe I was reading George Eliot through the entire three hours of the film,” he told her, as a stupid smile began creeping at the edges of her mouth. “Without context, it is quite a boring film, Corinne, you must understand that. There is little action, slow plot advancement, no romance -“

She knew he was egging her on, trying to do _normal_ as best he could, but she exploded anyways. “It's the greatest love story of all time!” Corrie burst out. “Lawrence and Ali - they make Cinderella look like an easy-ass hooker! They're two broken people who meet the one person in the world who can fill that gap within each other, but they're so fucked up that they'll never be able to fill it!-“

“And those were real people, Corrie.”

“We're real people too!” she shouted, so eruptive that she shocked herself. “If I survive this shit, Aloysius goddamn Pendergast, we can be everything that was Lawrence and Ali, but we are fucking not _THEM_! We - we deserve to be happy and live forever, you son of a bitch. And you're not allowed to buy a motorbike.”

“That would make me Lawrence,” he chided her. “And you, Ali.”

“Whatever. He had half of the best lines in the whole movie.”

“Flowers for the man,” he said quietly. “Garlands for the conqueror.”

“Flowers fester and smell of weeds,” was her totally appropriate response.

“Corrine Swanson,” Pendergast murmured, his voice heavier and his accent thicker. “I -“

“No. Not now,” Corrie cut in angrily, slamming her fist into the wall - a knuckle snapped, and she swallowed a cry not necessarily related to the break. “If you mean it, if you _mean_ it - you say it to my face. I don't want to hear it otherwise. Shut your shit up.”

Pendergast was quiet. “I will do so. I only wish to say it once, if that's all I'm allowed, but if those are your circumstances, then I respect them.”

Corrie wanted to cry. She curled around the phone and hissed, “I don’t only want to hear it once, I want to hear it _every day_. I wish you were here, _fuck_, I wish you were here now, oh God, I wish you were here,” and refused to let him hear her cry. “I'm so stupid. Jesus. I wouldn't be here if I'd been smart. I’m so sorry.”

“He's planned this for some time, and if it hadn't gone the way he intended, then he would have another plan, and another, until he had achieved his goal,” he tried to soothe her. It didn't work, and a wet sniffle betrayed her. “I wish it was I there, Corrie, and that you were home safe.”

“Or you could wish I was home, and know I was safe because you were there with me,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. Then, trying to stay calm, she randomly said “So. What are you wearing?”

“_Corrie_.”

“I'm wearing a shirt that shows way too much cleavage,” and the fact that she knew he'd never play along made her smile a little. “And these jeans make my ass look awesome. But you’ll see for yourself when I get out of this shit show. Hell, forget seeing, you can touch -“

“Corrie, _stop_.” She didn't recognize the new note woven into his voice. “This... I understand that you don't want to hear the words I have to say until I can say them in person. So please understand, I don't want to hear your seductions until I can bring you to my bed and make you fulfill them.”

Her heart pounded. “Put my money where my mouth is. I get it.” Was it wrong to be turned on right now? Because she absolutely was. Shit, if she ever saw him again, she was going to climb him like a tree.

“Also,” she added, “that was so incredibly sexy. I'm not kidding. If all it takes to hear you talk about taking me to bed is to get strangled, then you’ll hear from me tomorrow.”

Another sigh.

Corrie closed her eyes. “I like thinking about how it will sound when you tell me. Your voice...” she tried to keep her own sigh from sounding...well, like something else, but may have failed. “It's the only thing keeping me sane right now.”

“You’ve attempted murder three times in three days,” Pendergast reminder her. “I believe that's not working as well as you think.”

“A girl can dream.”

And then a nervous chill crept up her spine: she wasn't alone anymore. She hadn't heard the bastard come in. How long had - oh God, how much had he heard?

“Shit!” she swore.

Now his voice was sharper. “What?”

“I have to go,” she murmured, “I’m sorry, I'm so sorry -“ but the phone was confiscated before she could hang up.

“She tells the truth about the jeans,” Diogenes said. “When you tell me where my family is, you can see for yourself.” And, just as he had done before, the call was ended.

She stayed on the floor, and one fucking traitor of a tear trickled down her temple and disappeared into her hair.

He knelt by her side, solemn and serious. “If you attempt anything like that again, you will be taken out of here in a body bag. I no longer desire to harm my brother, Miss Swanson, but know that if you attempt to harm me again, I _will_ harm him. I will do so until he tells where to find my family.”

“He’ll die before he tells you anything,” Corrie spat.

“Then I will kill him,” he said simply, not letting a beat pass.

She jumped, trying to stand and failing.

“Believe me when I say this,” he said without remorse. “I have given you the freedom to move about, free of physical or chemical restraints. I have even made sure that should you wish to drink yourself stupid until my brother cooperates, you may. But if you remain determined to continue this behavior, then understand you will not be the only one who dies.” Diogenes regarded her as her breathing became erratic with panic. He would kill his own brother, a man who was too good for his own good. He would kill her, and torture the most amazing man she’d ever met until he was dead.

Corrie forced herself to nod.

“I know Aloysious, Miss Swanson. I know he is miserably in love with you. So, I know he will do anything to keep you alive. But,” he added thoughtfully, “I am surprised again. I originally thought that keeping you from him would be torture enough that he would cave quickly, but... the worst pain I can inflict on him is to let him hear your voice - pained, frightened, hopeful. I think his desire to save you from it all may hurt worse. I will allow you to speak with him again soon. But not because you deserve to,” he added. “You weaken him. His need to set you free will break him, a little more each time you speak. And I will be near for it all.”

“I won't let him tell you where Constance is,” she threatened.

“Then you will die when you are of no further use to me, my little bargaining chip, and I will flay him alive.”

All the sexy-time blood drained from her face.

It took a moment for her to formulate a response. “Okay. Please... don't hurt him, I won't try to hurt you again. But _please_, don't hurt him.”

A curious look, now. “If I ask you a question, Miss Swanson, will you answer me honestly? Know that I would be very hurt by a lie, by the way.”

Stomach acid boiled in her throat, but she nodded again.

“Tell me, then. Do you love my brother, the brilliant Aloysius Pendergast? The reckless, selfless savior who has rescued you from death more that once? Do you love him as though you will never know love like that again?”

*

Oh, fuck this asshole. It made her remember when Pendergast was dead, when he didn't call her on her birthday, and how she sat at the bar, stunned. How tears had poured down her cheeks silently, and Susie asked who the unlucky guy was this time, in regards to the breakup tradition.

Corrie couldn't even muster a lie as she tossed back a shot. “No, I never... he was never a thing. He was more than that. But I never... he was too much for a girl like me to land.”

Susie had looked at her sadly. “And you tried to land him, but crashed?”

“He's dead,” and then Corrie had been in undeniable tears. “He's _dead_, he saved my life so many times, but he’s dead, and I couldn't save his life -“

“Oh, shit,” Susie had realized. “It's the FBI guy? Corrie. I'm so sorry. But you talk like everything he did was to save people, and he was probably doing exactly that. So think about who-“

“Fucking Constance!” she’d shouted. “She was practically his fucking shadow, and I don't care that she's over a hundred years old, she was so totally in love with him, she was stupid and now he's dead. He didn't call me today. He _calls_ me every year to wish me happy birthday, and he didn't call. Seven people did, but none of them were _him_. Because he _drowned_. I thought it might be a fake-out, with no body, but he would have found a way. Because he would have found a _way_, Susie,” and now she'd become inconsolable.

Susie had laid gentle fingers on one hand, and placed a massive shot near the other. “You get a hall pass tonight, sweetie,” she said gently. “I always figured you were in love with him. I’m sorry.” She gave her some advice that Corrie decided to steal later: “This feeling will never go away, sweetie, but it will get _farther_ away. I promise.”

*

So, again: fuck this asshole. How dare he ask her that. How _dare_ he.

She glared up at him angrily, but he’d moved to loom over her and pin her wrists to the ground. She was vulnerable, and he had control.

“Remember what I just said about lies?” he asked softly.

“Yeah,” she spewed angrily. “And to answer your stupid question, yeah - I do. I’ve loved the shit out of him forever. I’ve been in love with him longer that I've had my high school diploma. I’ve been in love with him since he turned my shithole town on its head. What else do you want to hear? I’ve loved him since he made me drive him all over the place. I’ve loved him since he kept my boyfriend from burning me to a crisp. Who’s ever loved you like that?” Corrie demanded, and then the tears spilled. “Does Constance love you like that? Or does she create ten identities and live in fifteen countries so she can stay away from you?” 

That sparked his anger, and she found herself pinned to a wall by the throat again, but didn't fight back. He did that psycho thing again, where his hand pinned her and cut off her airway, but this time he dropped her like she was nothing.

“Her name is not yours to speak,” he said finally, keeping his gaze away from hers.

“If I bounced between fifteen countries with Aloysius’s son,” she hissed venomously, “he would know where to find me every second of every day, because I love that fucking asshole.”

He settled on the ground beside her now, which was weird, but it meant he wasn't going to choke her. 

“Why do you love him? What is there to love?” he asked after a long moment.

“Well, what the hell do you love about Constance?” she asked, irritable. “I think she's an uppity long-time local, but you seem to think she’s Santa Maria embodied in another vessel. At least she didn't take your advice and kill herself,” she added viciously. “Didn't you suggest that to her after you got her pregnant with that son of yours? To die? Man, that sounds like love.”

“You will never understand,” Diogenes said simply. 

“You know, you insist that I'm stupid. You tell me Aloysius likes better women, and that I'm a fluke. I _do_ understand things, though. You love Constance, who doesn't love you back. Oh, hey, I think you raped her,” she added, enjoying the rage on his face now. “Since she was in no state to give you consent, and all. I don't like her,” she assured him, “but trust me: you didn't make love. You raped her. She just happened to get knocked up. Thank God it’s the _other_ Pendergast brother who loves me, because your love is practically _cancer_.”

Fury was plain on his face, so she sat patiently and waited for the strike, but it never came.

“You tempt me to kill you more each day,” he murmured in the same voice he’d used when he invited her to go home with him. “Perhaps that is your skill; you clearly tempted my brother, the immovable monument.”

“Or maybe he thought I was _intelligent_ and _beautiful_.”

“The most intelligent and beautiful woman who walks this Earth is Constance Greene.” His words were clipped.

“Shame that's the broad you love,” she said sarcastically. “Me? I think she's a boring antique who talks too much about the man waiting for _me_. I met her, you know,” Corrie went on. “After Aloysius died. I was mad at Proctor because I wanted to yell at someone, so I showed up on the front porch. She asked him to _show me to her chambers._ And seriously, it was just to tell me about how he used to speak _kindly_ of me. How she was sure I loved him, but she loved him more than life itself. Maybe even more than your son, who she shipped off across the world so she could play house with the man who loves me. Felt like her soulmate had died, like half of her was taken away, swept out to sea. Suggested, with her pain, that her grief was greater than mine. It was boring,” she said viciously. “She may know him, she may love him, but she's the same person today that she was a hundred years ago. Me? I'm an angry goth punk who used to have no chance, until I met him. I used to hate the world, until I met him. I used to think love was a made-up concept to sell Valentines cards and candy, until I met him. Glad you love Constance, buddy, I bet she’ll love your Valentines cards. Me? I don't need bullshit showy excuses for romance. Thank God, the guy who loves me doesn't need to buy or make things to prove it. He just has to smile, nothing else.”

“If he does not tell me what I need to hear,” he stated, “you will be dead by midnight tomorrow.”

“Sounds like you need to tell him he's on a tighter schedule, huh?” Her eyes blazed with challenge. “Might make him expedite his compliance.”

Diogenes rose, his glare as blazing as hers. He tossed the cell at her and pulled out a new one. “I believe I will. You should do the same - it seems he listens to you more than myself. Perhaps he will listen better if we each pitch the same idea.”

He stormed out.

*

It had only been half an hour since their call, but Pendergast answered immediately. “I received your text. I will reply with the information you require within the hour.”

Corrie jolted. “Oh shit, oh fuck no, do not tell him where they are! If he finds them, he wins!”

“Corrie?”

“Yeah, I guess he doesn't care if I talk to you now. He said some shit. I’ll tell you sometime. He just threw me this phone and took off. What did he text?”

“He again requested to know where Constance and the boy are. I was responding as you called.”

“You can't!” she begged. “Ignore him, block him - you worked so hard to hide them, I know you! You never do anything halfway!”

“Corrie,” he said with a tone that invited no argument. “I have a plan, and I have already made my choice. I will see you soon.” And he hung up on her.

*

Diogenes strolled back into the room and slid back down to the floor beside her. “Apparently, he loves you. I leave tonight to reclaim my own love, and my son.”

“That motherfucking asshole,” Corrie seethed.

“Do you still love him?” he asked simply.

“Yeah, which means it's gonna suck when I kill him for this,” she scowled. “I hope she cuts your dick off.” At this point, she limped pitifully over to the minibar and grabbed the untouched alcohol, a fancy Russian potato vodka.

“I wondered how long it would take you to imbibe,” he remarked.

“Apparently other people's poor choices drive me to make my own.”

He cocked his head a bit, face unreadable. “I know the information he gave me is false. I did a little homework, and I know she has not been in South Africa for months. But everyone leaves a trail, and I will find it. You are free to go if my brother finds you. And then, we will hopefully never cross paths again.”

“I should be so lucky,” she muttered crossly, downing a large shot.

He arranged her hair thoughtfully when he met her in the middle of the room. “I promised you we would have fun, Miss Swanson. I believe I spoke the truth.”

“I hope your plane crashes.”

*

He left that afternoon, and she drank. Nothing happened. She was too pissed to call Pendergast, then after awhile, too drunk. The sun set, and she tried to get settled on the chaise lounge, but it was too soft for her beaten body. The vodka ran out before she could just close her eyes and drift down, so she settled on the floor with a pillow miserably.

*

It was tequila the next day, which hit her empty stomach hard. She didn't touch the phone, just lay bruised and broken on the ground with her pillow. At one point she roused to shower and brush her teeth, but that was it. She drank her lunch, and dinner, then lay back down. As promised, escape was impossible.

She slept with the tequila within arm’s reach, but woke up clear-headed and nervous. Now she pulled out the phone and hit redial.

It went directly to voicemail.

That made her swipe the tequila and take a large mouthful. Booze surely had enough calories that she could live off of it for awhile, yeah?

911 had been blocked in the phone. It allowed one number to be dialed, and no other, but that one kept going to an automated voicemail. So Corrie spent the rest of the day trying to get comfortable. She didn't think her rib was actually broken, but a deep bone bruise was still unpleasant.

Thank God for tequila.

*

But then, as she had finally found a tolerable spot on the lounge, the door exploded open, and she decided she was hallucinating, even as she rose so quickly that she stumbled. 

Pendergast caught her.

Corrie stared into his eyes dazedly for a moment, processing that his arms around her were real, that he had really walked in and now he was holding her, and tears welled again.

“Hi,” she said stupidly. “Fancy meeting you here.”

There was an edge of panic swirling about him now. He cupped her face in his hands, as they shook. “Corrine Swanson,” he said with calm, quiet control. “I love you so very, very much.”

“Yeah, well.” She listed in his arms on accident, and he pulled her in tightly. “Kiss me like you mean it.”

With her arms desperately wrapped around his shoulders, he bent down and did exactly as he was told.

It might have been too much - he was the only thing that kept her upright. He kissed her so gently that she melted against him, as his hands touched every inch of her he could reach.

Corrie broke away, breathless. “Guess you missed me.”

He didn't reply, silver eyes so dark that her stomach fluttered.

“Um, guess what?” Corrie began, suddenly nervous. “I, uh. I love you, too. Like, stupid love you. So stupid.”

It spiraled quickly from there. Corrie had been convinced that she was going to die the other day, but she was alive, and she could die tomorrow, so forget good ideas - let's stick with great ones.

He kissed her again, almost ferociously now as he yanked at his askew tie. She helped him dispose of it, tossing his shirt and jacket to the floor, peeling off her saucy top and practically ripping off her bra. 

Before she got to her jeans, he reached down and palmed her ass. “I believe I will have to burn these,” Pendergast murmured into her skin. “No one should be able to see you like this but me.”

“Negotiable,” she countered, and gasped as he yanked them down her legs. An accidental cry escaped her - maybe the busted rib, maybe all the bruises, but he froze and then pulled away as she stepped out of the jeans. He took in every violent mark on her body, the bruises around her throat, another on her side that was practically black, the ones on her wrists. She couldn't read on his face what he was thinking, but it didn't look good.

“I never said I made it easy for him,” Corrie said meekly, suddenly aware that she was only wearing a thong. 

He picked up his field jacket silently and began to arrange it over her shoulders. “Corrie,” he nearly whispered. “You need medical attention. I’ll take you to a -“

“Not yet, you won't,” she cut in, dragging him to the ground and trapping him between her thighs. Adrenaline surged through her, reckless and daring. Her breasts pressed against his bare chest, and he made a deep noise into her mouth that made her roll her hips against him, pleased to feel the hardness beneath her. “Yeah, there you are,” she practically purred, doing it again. “Fuck, you know how long I've been thinking about this?” She kept working herself over him, pressing as much of her naked body to him as she could. “I knew you’d look good under me, but I never thought _this_ good. God, I could ride you into the ground.”

He shoved her panties down past her hips, and as she shimmied them off completely, he rolled them over, his body encompassing her. “You,” he said into her mouth, “have some seductive suggestions to fulfill.” 

He was already opening his pants, too hurried to divest himself of them completely, and Corrie guided him to her entrance, making sure to rub him against her before she committed. A gasp slipped out as she did so, and her hips did all the work. It was amazing. It was great. And it was _happening_.

She quit working herself against his tip, and she looked at him with severity. “Yeah. Now.”

He slipped into her, and moaned into her mouth as he filled her completely. “_Perfect_.”

“Yeah,” she agreed shakily.

To her surprise, and delight, he wasn't exactly _gentle_. He fucked her like it was the only time he ever would, every thrust deep and swift - if they’d been in a bed, it would have surely complained.

But Corrie didn't complain. Oh, sure, she cried out and begged him to fuck her harder, she dragged her nails down his back and moaned every time he said her name. But complain, hell no.

“Touch yourself,” he managed between breaths.

“N-not yet,” she gasped, “I’ll come too fast -“

“So will I,” and then he cursed.

She did as told, and too soon, she began convulsing. “Oh shit, I'm -“

His thrusts remained strong, but became erratic, and he held her eyes as he tipped over the edge. “_Corrie_ -“

She felt herself clench around him, following him over that edge. “I fucking love you,” she gasped, her fingers and his body finishing her off like she'd been shot from a cannon.

His head came to rest on her shoulder as they breathed and shuddered together. “This was... not the plan,” he managed. She whimpered as he pulled out of her.

“Well then I'm glad you didn't stick to it,” was all she could think of.

“Did I hurt you?” Now there was urgency, a need to suddenly fear he had, given how hard he had been -

“No, jeez,” Corrie dismissed, kissing him again. “The only downside I can figure is that you're not still inside me.”

He shuddered a breath. “You still need to consult with a doctor. You're quite beaten, if you hadn't noticed.”

“Am I? I wasn't paying attention.”

“I’ll have my physician visit your apartment this evening,” Pendergast began, “he is, of course, very thorough and competent. He will see to any medication you may need, and provide any on-site procedures -“

Another kiss, and she pressed herself against him wantonly. “Yeah, I figured.”


	2. We should talk...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Corrie has to get real before she can get better. I mean, the girl had a bad few days. Conversations are had.
    
    
    This was Mars. She was on fucking _Mars_. Corrie stared at herself in the mirror for a long time, dressed in none of her armor, old or new. No fancy blouse, or jacket, no neat slacks or fitted skirt. No black top or combat boots, no purple or neon pink hair. Her only defense was five tiny studs and one silver hoop in each ear. She'd tried to do the nose ring, but it had been neglected so long, the hole closed.
    Shit. She’d fucked him.
    The glow that lingered for a day had faded. Her bruises and breaks hadn't, but the radiating happiness had. She'd been dazed and probably still a little drunk, and she had ripped his clothes off so that she could feel his skin against her own.
    Would he have had sex with her if he knew his brother had nearly seduced her? That he had kissed her and smiled when she agreed to leave with him? No. Pendergast would have seen to her medical needs, because that was who he was, but it would change everything.
    So when Proctor knocked - she knew he would - Corrie resigned herself to a stupid white long-sleeve and jeans. She grabbed a jacket miserably and opened the door.
    “He’d like to see you,” he said calmly, as if this was just a normal Thursday. 
    “Yeah,” she muttered. The idea that she could have to tell him everything - that she might tell him how this whole nightmare started because she refused to think about him, how Diogenes reminded her of him even before she knew - 
    “Are you all right, Miss Swanson?” Proctor asked neutrally when she swayed in place.
    “Fine,” she gritted. “Let's get this over with.”
    Because, shit, she had let him kiss her. She had made him fuck her. She had practically fallen into his arms, and held him like he was the only thing keeping her from drowning, and he was. He had been since she met him, even if she hadn't known it yet. But if he’d known about her last kiss, he would have shoved her away in disgust. Yeah, maybe she had been dosed, but she would have kissed that murderer until they fucked, then kissed him more. He may not hate her, but it would never be the same.
    She got a strange look from Proctor as she swiped at the tears that were building angrily, but, being Proctor, he said nothing.
    She’d finally kissed the first person who made her feel like she was worth something, and she was going to tell him the truth because he made her feel like that was the right thing to do, then she was going to lose him because of it.
    She stared out the window of the Wraith silently, but didn't really see anything. She just rested her head against the glass and gazed emptily. 
    They pulled off Riverside into the driveway, and when the house loomed in her vision, Corrie felt like she was about to throw up.
    Pendergast was pacing the porch as they pulled up, and quickly made his way down the steps to open the door for her. She didn't mean to let him pull her into his arms, but it happened anyway. His chin rested on the top of her head, fingers carding through her hair gently. It was almost inhuman, seeing a side of him he’d always kept so primly masked. She was more confused by him now than when he had kept himself an elegantly wrapped mystery.
    “Corinne,” Pendergast said softly. His accent had been heavier the last few days; she had heard it deepen with each phone call.
    “God, don't call me that either,” she groaned. “That name is the only thing my mom gave me that I can't sell. Seriously, she gave me a really nice pair of earrings when I graduated, and I pawned them the first week of college and got a tattoo.”
    Pendergast - Aloysius - huffed a small laugh. “Which one would that be?”
    In Corrie’s mind, when she had imagined telling him that nugget of a story, he would ask her if he could see it, and she would tease him about how he might get lucky if he played his cards right.
    It wasn't funny now.
    She swallowed and let him run his hand down her back, and even though he might never let her do it again, she shifted to bury her face in his neck. She couldn't find words, just his smooth skin, nosing his jaw.
    He leaned down and let his lips touch hers, barely, before he sealed their mouths together. No tongue, nothing sexy - just trying to prove she was really there. 
    She let him do what he had to, even though she had no right to enjoy it as much as she did. She knew, in the back of her head, that she was shaking, and when he felt it, he pulled her closer and tightened his arms around her.
    She pulled away, bordering on a panic attack. “Can we go inside?” she whispered. “It's cold. I left my jacket in the Rolls.”
    “Of course,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead. She flinched.
    *
    They settled in the sunroom, even though it was winter in New York and appropriately overcast. He poured himself a steep glass of scotch - she shuddered. “Can you... can we just stick to wine for now? And switch to tequila when we have to drink harder? Scotch is a sore subject right now.”
    “Corrie,” he started, using the only name he was allowed now, crossing the room to touch her cheek, but she caught his wrist quickly.
    “Wait,” she said miserably. “Wait until we’ve made everything out first.”
    And there he was, his cool mask slipping back into place. “As you wish.”
    Corrie almost found relief in this transition, this switch back to the man she met when she was a horsey teenager. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.
    They settled across from each other with what she would describe as “mom pour” glasses of wine, as it was almost full.
    Silence hung between them as he studied her. “Corrie, you know you may tell me anything.”
    She sighed and took a long drink. “You're not going to like it.”
    “I have learned that when it comes to my brother, I never like it.”
    It wasn't on purpose, but anger bubbled up to deflect, and she snapped, “So, how does it feel to be alive again? Must be nice. Hey, thank Proctor for letting me know you weren't dead anymore. I really appreciate the effort on his part, I know you were too busy to call me yourself.”
    He didn't blink. “I couldn't put you at risk like that. I'm sorry I couldn't justify the choices I had to make at the time, but I suspected he was alive. I hoped to spare you his wrath.”
    “Oh, great job,” Corrie snarled. “You let me think you were dead, you cut me out entirely, even after I found out you weren't worm-fodder - but guess what?- you didn't spare me his fucking wrath, Aloysius. He still poisoned the well. So you start talking, and I will listen. Then you will listen, and when you hear everything, I'll listen to how you feel about it.”
    He held her eyes as he weighed his reply, but she didn't budge.
    “He only causes pain,” Pendergast said finally, taking his own long pull from his glass. “And he makes sure that I am the one who hurts the most, because he kills and knows that he kills me through innocent people. I...”
    His silence made her flare up. “Oh, no. You keep talking, baby. I know what he wanted, and I kind of get how that involves me, but I want to hear it from you.” Aloysius kept his eyes on her, his jaw tight. 
    “Constance.”
    “Hey, that's not my name, so why do I keep hearing it?” she snapped. “You told me she was safe, but he knew where she'd been. How would he know even that?”
    “She has many aliases now, and is not where I said she was. I made sure to plant information that he could use to believe she was in Johannesburg, but she is not, and never was. He will have a long line of places that carry rumor of her, but none of them will lead to Iowa.” A wry smile.
    “Oh, you're cute. Anyone told you that lately?” Corrie was exactly unamused.
    “You know their complicated history,” he said tightly. “He has killed people to perpetuate a fantasy, and I don't know how many more will to continue fueling it. And with Constance and their son in hiding, I don't know how to keep people from dying. I just... couldn't let you be one of them. I'm afraid I still can't.”
    “What were you afraid of - him bugging all your phones, or something like that? Finding out that you're allergic to normal fun and operate at ten degrees below the normal human being?” Corrie retaliated. “Like you're going to say something over the phone that could get you - what, get you in trouble, or something like that?”
    “I have been at the bottom of my priorities list for a long time,” he said dryly. “May I ask how he found you?”
    Oh, yeah. This was going to be so much fun. It was like the time she got stitches without a painkiller. Yeah, that had been a blast. “I don't want to answer that.”
    He didn't say anything, just sat patiently and looked at her.
    Corrie sighed. “There's this bar by the apartment. I usually only go after, you know. Something goes wrong. Like relationships. Mom coming to town. Stuff like that. They saw a lot of me after you 'died’,” she added, which didn't elicit any reaction. 
    “I mean, I'd never met the guy in context before. He was some slick man in a nice suit, good with his words. Apparently I like well-dressed men who have extensive vocabularies and can speak a few languages, never mind the body count. He bought me a couple of drinks, and I... I had no idea who he was, I thought your girl shoved him into a volcano, okay? I swear.”
    Nothing.
    “So we talked for awhile, and he slipped something in my drink while I was distracted,” she finished quickly. “He put me in a car and I passed out. End of story.”
    “You may not be lying,” he surmised, “but you also aren't telling me something. He is very charming when he chooses to be, Corrie. I have always known that. Please don't think it's you I’m upset with, but don't deny me the right to be upset.”
    She glared at her shoes.
    “My brother only uses force if the absolute need arises, yet here you sit, harmed only when you provoked his anger after your capture. He used his words until then.”
    “Yeah, well, then he didn't need to knock me out.” Sore subject.
    “He is also one to take extensive precautions.”
    God, they sounded alike.
    “Fine. Then you won't be surprised to hear that we made out at the bar and he asked me to go home with him, and I said yes,” Corrie snapped. That made his eyes narrow. “ I didn't do - um. Anything like. That. He was smart, and funny, and charming - he made me miss you. But nothing explicit happened.”
    “No, his devotion lies elsewhere,” he said, his voice strained. “Clearly he had other priorities. That was not why. But he did make his point - it was you, and he could have had you without forcing you. He knows how long we’ve known each other, and that I don't often... keep connections like this. He showed me that he could have severed it, and simply chose not to.”
    “No he could not!” Ah, now she was really pissed. “There’s no severing this - you’ve tried to ghost me a few times, and if I wouldn't let your ass do it, then -“ a stressed sigh escaped. “If I wouldn't let you get rid of me, then he had no chance to ... Have I gone home with guys sometimes? Yeah. But you say the word, and... well, then at least I know where I'll tell the cab driver to go next time. Every time. The only address I’ll ever give again.“
    That wasn't what she meant to say, but it did get a response. 
    “Proctor called and told me what happened a week before my birthday,” she continued, rushed with nerves. “When he said they never found your body, I told him bullshit. Unless you were on a slab in front of me, I was never going to believe it.” She swallowed and realized she was shaking again, stupid tears flowing. “But then I sat on the couch a week later and stared at my phone for hours. Because even when you were working, even if one time it was the only time I talked to you for almost a year, you called me and wished me a happy birthday. But you didn't call me this year. I had spent all week telling myself that it wasn't possible, and if you were alive, you’d call. Every call and text I got, I thought it was you, that at least you’d find some way to let me know you weren't dead. That's a shitty birthday gift to want, Aloysius, my dad got me a new sound system, but all I wanted to know was that you were alive.” A loaded breath now. “And then, when Proctor called me again, I - I mean, I fucking mourned you, baby, you go ask my bartender if I wasn't grieving like I had lost my - God, and then it wasn't even you who called. It was just ‘Hi, Corrie, yeah, turns out he's okay, cool, right? Okay, bye.’ I’ve had this huge hole for months, and suddenly I’m just supposed to fill it.” She hated the look on his face, because it looked like pity. Corrie knew it wasn't, but she didn't want him to feel sorry for her. 
    ...a fucking apology wouldn't hurt, though.
    “I didn't have a choice, darling,” he pressed. “I suspected he might still be alive, and I didn't want to place you in harm’s way. He knows me very well, Corrie. I was afraid that if I contacted you, he would...” Seeing Pendergast ruffled by anything was rare, and it was usually a clue that something or someone was about to kill her. But here they sat, no one else to be seen, a crackling fire often providing the only sound in the room.
    “I feared that, knowing me as he does, he would hear something. That perhaps I would speak, or move differently. Give him some indication that you were... more, perhaps.” Another beat. “I wanted to reach out. I thought about doing it, and every time I reached for a phone, or happened to walk across campus, I would turn and walk away. Because perhaps you may have wanted to see a body, but for a time, I could see nothing but yours on a slab in my mind. I couldn't make that a new reality.”
    “You came to campus?” she said, shocked.
    “After I made sure Constance and the boy were safe... before you knew I had survived,” he said carefully. “I had been placed on medical leave, and I slipped a few times. I knew I should keep you as far away as I could, but.” His smile was a little self-deprecating now. “Your grown-up wardrobe is quite entertaining. I would never have imagined the girl I met in Medicine Creek turning into the beautiful woman in a cardigan with the collar of her shirt so carefully arranged.”
    “Oh my God, if you talk about what degree of professional I have to be now, I will wear the combat boots to calculus,” Corrie threatened. “Don't make me do it, because I still have them -“
    Right in the middle of her tirade, he pulled her to her feet and kissed her. She was okay with it.
    The only reason the first kiss had been better was because he was the last person she expected to see, but the first she wanted to. This one wasn't bad, there was intent behind it, and - she shivered at the word - love. He kept her pressed against him, and she spoiled herself by thinking about how soft his hair was between her fingers, and how she could sense the urgency beneath lips that were soft, and sweet, and shit, she loved this asshole.
    He hadn't actually said it out loud again, but it was tangible.
    She pulled away with a nervous smirk. “God, as smart as you are, it took you awhile to figure this out. We could have been doing this for years. Like, the first time we met. We could have been at it forever by now.”
    “If you’ll recall, you were a teenager when we met,” he reminded her. “And you weren’t fond of the idea. Also, it would not have gone over well in.... what did you call it? Shithole, Kansas?”
    That surprised a laugh from her, and it made her kiss him harder. There were a thousand miles of shit they needed to work on, but right now she was happy to just kiss him.
    “So it's... all good?” Corrie asked hesitantly. “I was stupid, you were a jerk, but - we're okay, right?”
    “We are all right,” he murmured. “Or, at least, better than the alternative.”
    “Well, like that's hard. The alternative is like Hell after the brown acid.” Quickly, she added, “Although. I like the part where I get to kiss you again. But... maybe not on the mouth this time? Just an idea.”
     Nothing on his face changed except for his eyes, which became very dilated, very quickly. It made her heart do weird things.
    She only allowed one hand to drop to his belt, because the other twisted in his hair as she brought him down for another kiss, and this one definitely involved her tongue, and how it was a metaphor for what she wanted him to do with, well, not his tongue.
    (Okay, fine. He could use his tongue. She felt like a porcelain cup perched on an unstable surface, like the first nudge could knock her over and make her shatter. Tongue was officially on the list.)
    *
    Corrie lay breathless about twenty minutes later. Necessity had pushed them into the master bedroom, and the ensuing activity had changed her perspective on how quickly she could crest, then how long it took to want more. The answer: fast, and ten minutes later. If anything, she felt like she was the male stereotype whose girlfriend had scheduled an hour, but then he was done in five minutes.
    Lucky for both of them, Aloysius seemed to like it a lot. He’d been gentle at first, making sure to remove every stitch of clothing himself as he adorned every inch of skin revealed with his mouth.
    (And, yeah. The tongue thing was about to be assigned a daily schedule.)
    “We have to do this every day, forever,” she breathed heavily, taking his pale blonde locks and petting them back to their original position. He was kissing down her sternum, and she was so over-stimulated that she was trembling again.
    He placed his mouth high on the inside of her thigh, covering a tattoo of a hand throwing the finger. “I take it that this was paid for by very lovely earrings.”
    “Expensive,” she corrected, “not lovely. They looked like the web a spider makes in the corner of a ceiling. Hideous. A shitty tattoo was a way better allocation of funds.”
    His mouth drifted a little, and she knew one thing: she was either going to die of a heart attack, or he was going to die of a broken neck, based on how tightly her legs pulled him closer.
    “Yeah,” she sighed. “We’re doing this every day forever. Does that work for you?”
    “I do have a job,” he scolded into her skin.
    Her hips arched, and she laughed. “I’ll call Longstreet myself, tell him you’ll be late -“ but her playful badgering was cut short with a shift of his mouth, tongue allowed perfect access, and his fingers suddenly became lethal.
    Before this, she'd only used his first name a few times - she could count it on one hand. Now, tonight, she’d run out of fingers and toes, and was having to start over.
    As she worked herself against his tongue, she gasped, “Oh fuck, you're going to kill me.”
    His smile was small, but any smile from him was a victory. “Not the worst way to go. And, darling, I'll probably go first: you have very strong thighs.”
    If the laughing fit she was having didn't kill her, she didn't know what would, except him.
    God, she loved this asshole.
    *
    “What plans do you have this evening,” he murmured into her hair, holding her close.
    She grinned up at him. “Nothing much. I thought about dragging some sexy guy to a bar... tall, white-blonde hair, probably gets sunburns under fluorescent lights. Says he works for the FBI. I don't believe him, though. He’s too weird. But I bet I could get him to feel me up in public.”
    His face didn't change, but as pale as he was, the slight blush was easy to spot. “I see.”
    And that was how they ended up walking into her usual haunt, and she made him hold her hand, made him kiss her as they walked in the doorway.
    Susie was behind the bar, chatting up one of her customers when she saw Corrie. A few things flickered across her face - concern, because it had been over a week ago that she'd stumbled out with Diogenes - suspicion, an eyebrow hiked - but Corrie's grin was so wide and stupid - she loved how Pendergast kept her so tightly clasped to his side, and Susie's eyes went wide.
    “So,” she said, fake-casual. “You normally make friends, not bring friends.”
    She settled on her stool, but he stayed behind her, hands stroking her arms, brushing her shoulders gently, chest pressed to her back. “Exceptions can be made,” she said slyly.
    “So you have a new friend,” Susie remarked, just as sly. “What did you do wrong to end up in this gin joint with this bag of trouble?” she asked him innocently.
    “I continue to deposit my own bags of trouble on her doorstep,” he drawled pleasantly. “But, I am not new.” God, that was so hot.
    Susie took a moment to process him, likely running through every story Corrie had told over a highball. “So... what do you do for a living?” she asked suspiciously.
    “I’m a federal agent,” and he was playing up his accent so nicely that she might have an orgasm just hearing it. “But I'm afraid that's all I can divulge, ma’am. I’ll have a rusty nail, and Miss Swanson will have her usual.”
    Susie stared hard at her, eyes narrowed. “Is this when I say ‘holy shit’?” she demanded. “Because I feel a holy shit coming.”
    A shrug. “I mean, if you can't suppress it, then sure. I said it, like, ten times earlier, but I think my motivations were -“
    “Corrie,” he said into her ear, a little scolding detected. When she let herself fall silent with the happiest smile, he squeezed her elbow gently. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
    When he strolled off, Susie leaned in. “No way. Tell me I'm not wrong.”
    “You're not wrong. It's a long story.”
    “Holy shit.”
    “Yeah,” and there was that stupid grin again. “Yeah, holy shit. Back from the dead, and that ass is mine. Like, forever.”
    The bartender shook her head as she poured off their drinks. She followed that with two shots of tequila, passing one to Corrie and palming the other for herself. “Well. Doubt you'll be in here next time because you dumped him.”
    “Nah. Maybe because he's on assignment, or we both almost get killed again...” They downed their shots, and he strolled back over with a little ramekin of skittles from the quarter-slot machine. Christ, he carried change. He placed it in front of her and settled into his drink.
    “Jesus Christ, you're perfect,” Susie declared. “She's a junkie about those things.”
    “Perhaps not perfect, but I will accept astutely observational.”
    “You're disgusting. You're both disgusting. I'm getting cavities just looking at you two, you're so freaking sweet.”
    “Susie,” she grinned, “meet Aloysius Pendergast. Aloysius, this is Susie. She's my therapist.”
    God, she loved this asshole.
    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But hey, they're both figuring it out! Good for them! Feedback is appreciated. Lots more to come!


	3. Bring Your Mom to Normal Day (not that this is normal)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mama Swanson gets in on the action. It doesn't go as well as one would think. Or- it actually goes how we all figured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And hasn't Mom always been fun.

Corrie woke up to the blast of her phone ringing. Fuzzily, she rolled across the massive bed to grab it. She groaned.

“Jesus, mother, do you know what _time_ it is?” she whined.

“Corrie, your graduation is in less than a _week_,” her mother reminded her. “I still don't even know where I'm staying! Do you understand?”

Oh yeah, because that was Corrie's problem, not hers. She let warm arms pull her closer, lips ghosting across her skin.

“I’ll figure it out, okay?” she grumbled. “You're right, graduation is in a few days, so I've been busy. With _school_.” Only 75% a lie. “Let me make a few calls, see if any _useful_ people are actually awake to be helpful.” One was, if barely, and the statement earned her a kiss behind her ear. 

“Well don’t let it take too long,” she huffed. “Nothing will get any cheaper, when it takes too long.”

“Okay, mom, great, love you, bye,” she half-hollered to drown out any more words, and hung up. “Is fifty years too late for a late-term abortion?” she sighed, flopping onto her stomach. 

Aloysius watched her sleepily. Mornings with him were fascinating: if his private demonstrations of actual human feelings had been mystifying, then waking up beside him was like waking up in literal space. 

It was the absolute only time that he wasn't supremely immaculate; even at breakfast, he was polished and posh, usually donning a very smart robe. But the moments as he really woke up were... they were fucking gorgeous. Hair tousled, eyes still soft with sleep. It was only witnessed by someone who woke up held by him. It would be tucked away tidily before he left the bedroom.

But right now, he had only barely stirred - he really didn't have to be awake for her to receive sleepy, fleeting kisses.

Now he snaked an arm across her waist and stroked the small of her back. “To what do we owe the honor of your mother’s lovely call, while the stars are still bright this morning?” His drawl was thick as he joined the world. She loved it.

“I don't know. Maybe in a past life I was Stalin,” she scowled. She’d learned Nazi jokes weren't funny quickly. “She's trying to make me spring for some fancy hotel for three days. I mean, she's mad that I wouldn't even spring for her plane ticket. Not like I'm a college student who has a few more things to do before she gets her first paycheck, or anything like that.” She buried her face in the pillow, clearing the cobwebs slowly.

“If you'd like to put her somewhere nice, it can be arranged,” was his sleepy reply.

A few minutes passed, his fingers smoothing down her spine. Corrie rolled over and looked at him, chewing on her lip a little. “Would you, um, mind if I stayed here a few days? Then she could just stay at my place, she's always bitching about how nice it is, and her bad behavior wouldn't be rewarded with some ridiculous hotel. Like, she hasn't said it, but I know she expects to be put up at the Waldorf-Astoria.”

His eyebrows rose, even as he was still burrowed into a pillow. “You realize that you have only spent three nights at your apartment since you received your freedom, yes? And that you were only alone for one?”

She blushed. Yeah, that was pretty true. “Fair. But your bed is way more comfortable than mine, you have to give me that.”

“Of course you can stay here,” he assured her.

She grinned suddenly. “Shit, she is going to be _so_ _pissed_.”

“Perhaps tell her that you’ve gotten yourself a hotel instead,” he suggested. “A graduation treat.”

Corrie laughed softly. “God, I totally should.”

But she didn't- she just called her mother and said, “Look, how about you just stay at my place?”

“And sleep on the couch?” her mother scoffed. “I hope it's a pull-out. Be serious, Corinne, you know my back can't take that.”

“No,” she assured her, “it's not like that. I'm staying with, um. A, um, friend. Really good - look, we’ll talk about that when you get here. But no, I'm not making you sleep on the couch.”

“A friend,” her mother repeated.

She glanced at Aloysius, because how did you explain him to people who didn't know him? Or - this? She‘d only kissed him once before she told him she loved him, and then she stripped naked. None of that would sound serious to the outside world, especially her mother.

“Well he must be a very good friend,” her mother scowled, and unspoken but heard was the sulk about not getting a room downtown. “I hope so, at least.”

“Yeah, again, this is going to be a longer conversation than I'm gonna have before sunrise,” Corrie snapped. “So if your early-rise ass doesn't mind, I’m going back to sleep.” And, once again, hung up on her.

She met Aloysius’s curious eyes and sighed.

“Friend?” he suggested.

She scrubbed her face with a groan and lay on her back. She hadn't slept in a stitch of clothing lately, and the sheets were bundled about her hips, yet she absently didn't care anymore.

“In a short phone call, we would sound like we're insane. You know how she is - something confuses her, so she warps it into something negative and screams. Besides,” she added. “_Boyfriend_ sounds temporary. And juvenile. And you're neither. You can't be summed up to a lot of people in 140 characters.”

A hum. “True.”

“And it was cool that Laura and D’Agosta didn't think that we're... _too_ weird,” Corrie threw in. “They've known you longer than I have, they may not understand completely, but they get it.” 

_Constance would get it, too,_ she thought with a tiny smile, but knew better than to voice it. Honestly, it was just mean, but she didn't feel bad. _At all_.

“Also, she basically calls you a pedophile,” she added. “She still doesn't know it was you taking me out to nice dinners when you had time. She would have freaked out. She's _going_ to freak out if you can go to the ceremony.”

“Why would I miss it?” he wondered, pulling her in for a proper kiss, which she reciprocated with enthusiasm.

In the real world, with real people, Corrie was still slick and sarcastic, unwilling to spare idiots her irritation, although her police encounters had certainly become more positive. And Aloysius was still razor-sharp, brilliant, and unwilling to let a single task go unfinished, even if it took years. He was still hard and unmoving. He still cut through obstacles like a blade, even when they were people. And while he wasn't light-hearted when it came to things, she found him hilariously manipulative when the need arose. Corrie could have watched him smile innocently and charm a clueless woman for hours, pulling no stops as he exacted whatever information he needed, then vanish. The dazed looks on their faces as he would saunter off were fine art. She didn't even mind the delicate, deliberate kisses he would drop. Shit, he was good.

But when they were only focused on each other, the armor would slip, and she would see someone that no one else saw, not even Proctor.

What made her a little uneasy was that the previous women who had seen this Aloysius were all... unlucky. But hey, one of their specialties was getting almost killed together and finding impossible ways to keep each other alive, so maybe she had an advantage.

His fingers trailed up her stomach lightly, making her shiver as she tried to answer. “I dunno. Don't you get long-distance gigs and disappear for months? Seems like I was involved in one of those. Fun times,” she gasped as he kissed down her neck.

There were little things she'd begun to notice, the more time she spent with him. Which was basically full-time since he’d found her. 

He was dedicated to consistency, which was usually boring with other people, but riveting with him. It was another part of his armor - if he deviated, it was either deliberate or accidental, which - yeah, it was complicated. Case in point: if he woke up before Corrie, which was often, she would then wake up to his mouth kissing one of her nipples - usually the pierced one, his teeth playing with the bar and his tongue teasing the tip. 

Which was exactly where he went now, and she arched into his mouth with a low sigh. He was in no hurry, spending plenty of time caressing every inch of her body. For a bit, he decided the other breast was being neglected and switched, but he clearly had a favorite. Rightie could be passed over, but Leftie got spoiled.

Their first time had been quick, and a little rough. But she’d learned that fast and hard wasn't usually his style. It had been circumstantial. He wasn't usually rushed - he liked to take his time, and made that time very worth it. Right now, he brushed every inch of her so softly that some spots tickled, places she'd never even thought of, like the sensitive skin behind her knees, which drew a small laugh from him.

When he got serious, though, she shuddered and whispered his name as he whispered hers into her thigh.

Then, of course, there was no more whispering. He pulled her legs over his shoulders, ankles hooked behind his neck, and made sure that none of the sounds she made were _whispers_.

“How are you so - _fuck_! - so good at everything?” Corrie whimpered, her hips lifting.

No answer, just further demonstrations of the impossibility that was _him_.

If he’d deliberately strung her along for as long as he had, then this was not his goal now. Quicker than she'd expected, she was crying out and gripping his hair, then pulling him off of her as soon as she came, her whole body shaking.

“Oh shit,” she managed, then yelped as he pressed a last, quick kiss before rising to study her.

“I worry that you didn't enjoy yourself, Miss Swanson,” he purred, a thumb obscenely swiping the edge of his mouth on purpose and she almost _died_. “You sounded very distressed.”

“Yeah, lemme show you _distressed_, asshole,” she growled, flipping them over. She returned the favor, of course she did, but she wasn't quick about it, either. She brought him to his peak, then slowed down, replacing her mouth with her hand, smiling wickedly. Then, as he begged her to finish, she licked up his length and worked him up again. Then went back to stroking him slowly, grinning, teasing his tip with her tongue. When she achieved her goal - as she finally sank herself down on him and moaned, when she worked her hips slowly, as he viciously clutched her breasts, her ass, and begged her, as she shortened her thrusts to the original fast and hard - as she rose up and fucked him until he shouted as he erupted inside of her - she shot him a saucy glare. “I think that's what distress sounds like, _Agent_ _Pendergast_.”

*

Corrie went by her apartment a few days later to gather some things for the weekend (“And to grab anything of value,” she added when he asked her why she had grabbed such a huge suitcase for just three days. “She has a history of stealing my shit so she can pawn it and go by the liquor store, or just have it because she wants it,” she explained).

Proctor drove her, even though she insisted she was fine, she would call a cab. When she huffed that he probably had better things to do, he simply said, “You faced a great amount of danger and harm too recently for me to comfortably send you across town alone, where you could fall back into Diogenes’s line of fire. When Miss Greene has been successfully embedded long enough, I’m sure that fear of retaliation will lessen, but you haven't even been home for a month. It's too soon to take risks.”

She wasn't as surprised by his answer as she might have been, once. Since the Incident, she had practically lived at the Riverside house, and he’d gradually relaxed his language beyond “Yes, Miss Swanson/No, Miss Swanson.” He tended more, lately, to justify his decisions when she put up an argument.

He watched the door as she threw a couple of dresses and outfits in the case, cosmetics that were only used for special occasions, shoes... all of her jewelry, a few pictures and art pieces, every purse she owned. The gun in her safe, which she unloaded, throwing the bullets back in the box to lock in the console for the drive.

Corrie basically gutted the apartment. If her mother wanted to sell the bedding, or the couch and TV, then by all means, go for it. They all came from resale shops anyway.

Proctor silently took the suitcase, even as she protested that she had it, but Corrie was learning that when Proctor made up his mind, there was no point in arguing: it was done. Suitcases or safety, he didn't care, there was no difference. That, and the fact that he could be scary as fuck when someone tried to cross him (violently, not opinionated like Corrie), was obviously why Pendergast kept him close.

The house was empty and quiet when they got back. The vacation was over - Aloysius had pulled some strings and cashed in all the favors he had left so that he could be at her side as she recovered, but it couldn't last forever. So the morning of her mother's call, he’d taken advantage of the early hour, but then rose and put on the armor, and ended his sabbatical.

She'd been plenty bored while he was gone the last few days - she bundled up and wandered the grounds sometimes. The library was beautiful, but a great deal of the books were in other languages and therefore of no use to her small-town Kansas ass.

And, yeah, she had a phone. If worse came to worse, she had the internet.

Corrie had no idea how to break the Aloysius news to her mother. Jesus, she went years without talking to her. They had tediously worked to mend the relationship after a few years, but there were still land mines that they both tried to avoid, to little success.

And... he was one of them. Every time the murders crossed Mom's mind, there was always a nasty jab at the sick FBI agent who was probably trying to have sex with her teenage daughter. Before she'd had her fun with Diogenes, and everything changed, it was always a huge fight. Corrie would yell that Mom had no idea who he was, how when she found trouble, he always found her, and he was the only person who didn't immediately write her off as a hopeless punk and gave her a chance to be more, shouting “A total fucking stranger had more hope for me than my own fucking mother, and he was right!”

After the adventure, though, she backed down. For a few days, there had been a chance she could never talk to her mother again, since Corrie might be dead. Besides, who cared what her mother said when Aloysius loved her for the woman she was, not the kid she'd been? Not worth a fight.

She got it, of course. Her mother had spent her own youth pretty but trashy, and it left her in despair for the affection of a man. But when she found it, it was either to be captured in a cycle of abuse by bad men, used and tossed away by careless men, or left by good men like her father because of her toxic personality. As far as her mother was concerned after decades of this, there were no nice men. They all wanted something, never her, and vanished once they got it. She still truly believed Corrie's father left because she got pregnant, even though he almost immediately started a family when he married his wife. So, Corrie got it.

Wasn't going to make the next few days any easier. 

She unloaded stuff where she could - clothes to the closet, make-up to the bathroom, but left the stealable contraband in the case. None of it had a home here.

She piddled around on Facebook, checked her email, read over her paperwork from the Bureau about her training at Quantico. By the time Aloysius strode in, she had dozed off playing poker online.

The armor was still in place, so she startled awake to a simple kiss on the forehead, nothing more. 

“Well that was a long day,” she yawned, getting to her feet.

“Usually,” he sighed, slipping out of the greatcoat and putting it away. “I’d been able to put my... _status_... out of mind for a few weeks, but now I am forced forced to eat crow, as they say.”

Corrie put her hands on her hips crossly. “That's bullshit. You showed someone mercy instead of committing murder. I'm no penalty denier, but. I mean, the fallout was fun, but you tried to find peace in the middle of a hurricane.”

“That,” he told her ruefully, “is not the problem. The problem is that I refused a direct order from a superior, and let a murderer walk free because... he is my brother, and I wished him to find peace as well. And in doing so, I lost the trust and brotherhood of a man who would have died for me. A man who would have sought out anyone who killed me and put a bullet in his head to avenge me. Because Diogenes killed one of our brothers, and I let him walk away.” He ran an angry hand through his hair, knocking a few stray locks loose. She wanted to put them back in place, but he wasn't there yet.

“And he's right,” Aloysius continued. “I swore an oath, and part of it was that I would not allow a man who killed one of us to live. I made myself a liar for a brother who has taken so many people from me, and has hurt so many more. I gave up my honor for him,” he laughed bitterly. “And so now I sit behind a desk, occasionally allowed to look into the flimsy cases that keep me in New York, rather than the cases, hot or cold, that others don't have the mind to pursue. Murderers walk free because I burned my bridges and can no longer go where I am needed without a _fucking_ leash.”

The obscenity was rare enough to make her wince. “I'm sorry.” It wasn't enough. He stormed away to the bedroom and slammed the door.

She wanted to punch Longstreet in the face and spit on his broken nose.

She sighed, then grabbed her phone when it buzzed in her pocket. It was a text from her mother: _Should be at your place by 3._

_K. Meet you there_

_Already with this good friend I suppose_

_See you tomorrow. There's a key at the desk_

She sighed again. _Jesus_.

Aloysius made his way back into the main room eventually, dressed more comfortably, head tilted thoughtfully. “There's a suitcase in the bedroom full of pictures and many random, nice things. And a gun I do not recall you owning.”

“I’ve run into enough douchebags,” she shrugged. “I’ve taken the classes, I know all the safety stuff. I just don't want to be surprised anymore.”

He didn't look pleased, but he also didn't press the issue.

“And I suppose the rest is what you worried your mother might re-appropriate,” he concluded.

“I might have gone a little overboard,” she conceded. “Mom has a bad habit of getting sober, rebuilding trust, then trashing it when she runs off the rails. So I quit taking chances. Her calling at 4am the other day? Makes me think she hadn't gone to bed yet because she's still up drinking. Never sounds drunk, but... that's when she would wake me up and do her freak-out.”

“Why didn't you put up the rest of it?” His voice was... odd.

“Didn't have anywhere to put it,” she dismissed, cheeks reddening. 

He crossed the room in three steps, and oh, yeah, now he was ready to kiss her. She used it as an excuse to sweep her fingers through his hair and reset the strays, and smiled against his mouth when she succeeded.

His eyes were firm when he released her mouth to look at her. “This house is big enough that you could never claim there is nowhere for new things,” he said after a moment. “You may find a place for every piece you felt you didn't want to lose, if you wish. You don't have to.” 

Corrie's heart began to race. 

“But if you don't mind, I would ask that you let me put the picture of you at your freshmen admissions party on the bedside table. It's all right if you say no.”

She was... kinda speechless. She'd been photographed making an obnoxious, smiling howl, laughing waving a beer in one hand, wearing a sleeveless, short black dress with a diving neckline. She'd aways found it silly, but his eyes were hungry.

“Okay,” she said shakily. “Yeah, okay, baby, it's yours. I’ll, uh, unload everything in the morning. Find a good spot for all of it. I mean, the nice stuff, not all the photos, you know.”

“I think the picture of you and your childhood dog should be on the entryway mantle. Springer spaniels are beautiful. He raised you, didn't he?”

She felt short of breath. “Really? Are you being serious?”

“Incredibly.”

“I’ll find the right spots for everything,” she managed, wrapping herself around him. Shit, what did it mean, for him to take in everything that meant something to her and arrange it in his home? To imply that she was finding places for these things to live? 

Love was _ridiculous_.

“Anywhere in this house can be a home for all these things,” he murmured. His hand slipped up her skirt, and Corrie gasped. She let him settle her on the edge of the counter, which wasn't high enough to make up for the height difference, but was so surprising and hot that Corrie rolled with it.

His fingers worked her until she was writhing onto them, and then - _fuck_ \- he licked his palm so he could slick himself up, shoved her panties aside, and pressed himself into her.

She knew well enough to slip a hand between them and tease herself - it never took much. But the angle was different, it made his movements sharper, pushing so quickly into her with each enthusiastic press, it was like he was trying to lift her. Made her own touches a little random, but he was fucking her like she was the only woman in the world. He worked against her, rucking her up higher with each thrust, his breath hot against her ear. He was so hard, she could feel it. And he was holding back.

“Baby, give me everything,” she finally pleaded. “Please, sweetheart, I know you - give me _everything_.” She yanked her shirt off and held his eyes.

So, she got everything. He kept her carefully placed, but trapped her there with such a firm grip that he left bruises. 

He fucked her thoroughly, kissed her thoroughly, his hands the only thing that kept her from falling as he shoved into her as hard as he could. Because, shit, it was like the wheels had come off the bus, and she loved it. She tried to work herself against him, but he wasn't playing. He kept her awkwardly perched, his pace almost manic, and gripped her wrist to keep her pleasuring herself.

“Come, Corrie,” he pleaded. “I have to hear you, darling -“

So she came, crushing her breasts against him and crying out his name, and then he was coming, holding her close. These thrusts were gentler, as though there was more of him she could take, as she stayed tight around him. Like she could draw more from him as they stayed like this.

Corrie let them both recover for a few minutes. She rearranged her clothing, as did he. Once again, his pants were never divested - there wasn't enough time.

She pressed her face into his chest. “Okay,” she managed finally. She let her eyes slip closed as her breathing slowed. “I hate to tell you I have bad news now.”

He tensed under her touch, so she pinched him, because no one else was allowed to. “My mom will be at the apartment by three tomorrow. I figure I should get there early - I don't want her rooting through my stuff before I get there. I left a key at the office so she can get in, though.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Corrie raised straighter, surprised. “You have work!”

“I requested this weekend months ago. How did you think I could miss it?” His eyes glittered, still tainted by lust.

Corrie swore as she took the dish towel from him, which was not used before or after this. “You really want to deal with my mom tomorrow? Seriously?”

“I made dinner reservations for three at a very nice restaurant after the ceremony,” and goddamn it if he wasn't pleased with himself. Then, a little more genuinely, “better to cauterize this wound before you have your day. If she sees me at the ceremony with no context, she may try to make the day about herself. If she refuses to remain calm, simply take her off the admissions list after we meet tomorrow, and she can't cause a scene during the ceremony.”

Sometimes, she hated how practically his brain worked.

“Fine. But if this all goes nuclear, I blame you.”

He barely touched her lips to his, smiling. “Well, wasn't that the plan?”

*

It did not go as planned. It never did.

Corrie stuck to her word and stealthily found a way to tuck the contents of her bag across the house, nestled behind things that would keep the eye from being drawn. She kept quiet as he followed her and tweaked each item to make its placement permanent, and prominent.

She didn't ask how he felt about her outfit, but when she stepped out of the shower, she settled on a black tank, no bra, leather jacket, and her sexy-jeans tucked into her combat boots. She went with the five studs and one hoop in each ear. Her armor. She'd be freezing cold, but fuck it. 

He slid his hands down to her back pockets, which - honestly, they were more decorative than useful. She let him move her hair aside as he kissed down her neck. “Do you think the best route is to don the old uniform?”

“Let her deal with the original me. She still thinks the new me is a fraud, anyways.” 

And so they arrived at her complex at 2:25, made out like teenagers in the elevator, and meandered to her unit without stopping. She didn't notice that nothing tumbled when she unlocked the door, and dragged him in by the lapels of his jacket, fully determined to to fuck him in their few free minutes.

Her mother’s place on the couch was, unfortunately, exactly where she'd meant to place him so she could lock him between her legs and ride him. It sucked the sexiness out of the whole world. They both froze, although Aloysius probably made it look smooth and composed. Corrie? She probably just looked like she’d intended to have sex on her couch.

It took a minute for her mom to put the pieces together. She had been holding a very full glass of whiskey, but by the time she spoke, it was empty.

“Aw, shit,” Corrie groaned on accident. She hid her face in his chest. “I know we're supposed to do this, but does it have to be right now? I was planning on having another twenty minutes.”

“Things do not tend to stick to the schedule, darling,” he murmured. “Mrs. Swanson,” he added formally, rising to his full height to address her.

Mom’s eyes were molten. “I suppose this is your good friend, Corrine. Disgusting, that you’ve become some kind of pet.”

“Well,” she gritted, “girlfriend sounds temporary, and wife sounds subservient, so, yeah. We're pretty good friends, but only because the actual word to sum this up doesn't exist in English.”

His hand tightened on her hip as she worked up her rage. It made her feel stronger.

“Why am I not surprised?” Mom demanded. “I always knew what this was, I just prayed that you would be better than -“

“Who the fuck did you pray to?! - Cthulhu?” Corrie snapped. “Don't you stand in my home and spout off your bullshit! There's only one person in this room who saves me from anything, and it ain't you!”

Apparently, their every volatile interaction hit the boiling point immediately, because now her mother was on her feet, furious. “You never needed to be saved until this pervert stormed into your life! You were a good girl -“

“Bullshit, I wasn't good, you let me know that every time you didn't post your daughter’s bail!”

“That sheriff probably kept you safer every time he threw the lock!”

“This is why I wish Dad wasn't in fucking China this weekend!” she shouted. “If he'd been able to come, you would never have dared to show your trash-ass up here!”

“You watch your mouth, young lady!”

“Oh, you want me to watch my mouth?” Corrie began, wrenching herself free of his calming hands and stomping across the apartment. She seethed over her mother, furious and vibrating with life and shit. Who faced down Diogenes and then walked away? Not her fucking mother, that's who. 

“You're not the only one. I met a guy last month who implied I might talk too much, and he nearly fucking killed me. You wanna be that guy, Mom? You wanna grab me by the throat and cover my nose, my mouth, shove me into the wall because I talk too much, because none of my fucking words are what you want to hear? You wanna make sure I know you’ll kill me if I breathe wrong? You have plans that involve me dying because things didn't go your way? You wanna give me this?” She shoved her tank and jacket away to show the purple-to-green bruise at her ribs, and thrust a finger against the lingering bruises at her throat. “You want to be like that psycho? Awesome! Your audition is fucking amazing! I fell for that shit because I was raised by that shit! Good job, less smart Diogenes, but I'll fucking pass!” 

She stormed in an angry circle. “Keep that fucking key. Get as much fucking booze as you can get from my fucking shit. I don't care anymore. And if you show up tomorrow, you’ll be escorted out by security.”

As she wound down her rant and began to blow out the door, Aloysius slipped her mother a card. “Let me know if you wish to dine with us tomorrow night. Perhaps we can start anew.” 

But he still followed when Corrie exploded out the door. 

*

The ceremony was fine. It was boring AF, and lasted exactly two years. Her mother never made contact, so Aloysius reached out to D’Agosta and Hayward, expanding their dinner reservation to four.

And, hell, who would rather mend long-term family relations than don a sexy dress and drink wine with friends?

She liked Laura because of her brutal honesty and inability to hide her true opinions, and Aloysius liked D’Agosta because, whatever, dudes. Badges.

Laura, obviously wearing the pants in this relationship, lifted a glass of very good wine. “Congrats, kid. I pulled your records from Shit Creek, so may I raise a glass to a girl who should be in federal lockdown, but somehow is going to Quantico in August?”

Glasses were raised, and her hand was squeezed beneath the table. Corrie grinned.

Things settled after; Laura and D’Agosta were sort of okay with the situation, if not mildly dubious about it. They seemed as unsettled as Corrie about how... human Aloysius could be, sometimes. But they rolled with it, coped as he pressed a kiss to her temple, poured more wine.

When the gentlemen stepped away for a cigar, Hayward became calm and straightforward. Corrie liked how she cut the bullshit like a hot knife through butter. “Okay, Swanson. I like you, but what the fuck happened? You're soft, he’s fucking soft - what the hell? You both disappeared, then you both came up normal, which neither of you are. Don't fuck with me.”

“Well, uh,” she started awkwardly. “I guess it was never an official case, then.”

Hayward stiffened. “Are we talking about something that should have been?”

“No, no, never mind. Not a case. Just a small, um, thing.”

“Nope, Swanson, you're going to have to be more specific,” Laura said firmly. “I’ve known that improv fucker for years, I’ve seen all the shit he can pull. Yet suddenly, he's here, not pulling shit, and here you are. I know him, Swanson. What happened.”

Corrie decided to keep it simple and straight, eyes fixed on a chandelier. “I met the little brother.”

Laura’s eyes widened. “He's dead.”

“Nah, apparently volcanoes and Constance Greene both suck at shit. He is very alive, and he has an agenda.”

Hayward became more serious, which Corrie found laughable after the last few months. Hayward had fought the system, but Corrie had fought death.

“That fucker is alive,” she surmised carefully. “Do you expect me to believe you two don't know where he is?”

“Not really. He’s on a deliberately contrived hunt. Aloysius has it covered. When he hits certain spots, we’ll find him,” Corrie said simply, finishing her drink and refilling it. “We’re, um, tracking his movement, and if we can officially pin him, we'll kill him. No legal shit, no jail. We're going to just fucking kill him. If Aloysius is sweet, he’ll let me do it, but that's his brother. I won't take that away from him.”

That was not the answer Laura expected. “So I guess you didn't spend time with Diogenes for fun.”

“This is off the record, Captain,” Corrie said coldly. “We're just chatting over dinner.”

Laura glared carefully. “If those are your terms.”

“They are.”

“Great. Then let's continue chatting over dinner.” Laura kept their eyes locked. “You met the little brother.”

“It was fun. He only almost killed me a few times. Got mad because he was clever and I was unappreciative. Pushed Aloysius to tell him where Constance and the kid are, but - he never gave her up. I got smacked around a bit, sure, but here I am. Dio-dickwad took off, and I got found. Need more?” She kept her tone short.

“Well, and then is a basic follow-up,” Hayward said immediately.

“I’ll grant you this,” Corrie allowed. “And it is the only private information you’ll get. If you put me on the stand, you’ll never hear it.”

“I can handle it.”

“Diogenes... he said that his brother stole the woman he loved, so he returned the favor.” She watched Laura process that. “I can be more specific. He promised that when I quit being a good little bargaining chip, I would be dead. All he wants is Constance. He’s been set on a cold trail, and he’ll never find her. By the time he figures that out, she’ll be embedded too deeply to be found.”

Laura let out a shaky breath. “Fuck. You got the whole shebang, didn't you?”

“And a side of fries,” Corrie told her icily. “So, I love that weird fucker. I always will. Always. I had a few excuses to bribe my way out of it, but I passed on that Get Out Of Jail Free shit. He’s my thing. I’m his. We cool?”

“God, that man is never a simple fucking question,” Laura groaned. “Why couldn't you fall for a quarterback or something easy?”

“Why did you fall for an old detective on the verge of retirement?” Corrie shot back, a little snarly. “I don't mean to make that sound nasty, Laura, he looks really good now - I just mean, sometimes people find their people, and it's weird. You found an old detective who doesn't necessarily deserve a hot chick like you, but it works. I found some federal dude who has massive issues, so much baggage, and then so much baggage. But I love the shit out of him.” Another shrug. “It works.”

“That is the most terrifying thing I've ever heard,” Laura said plainly.

“Well, the fact I can say it and mean it is pretty terrifying, too. Try loving that asshole and then talk to me about terrifying shit. Does Vinnie ever scare the shit out of you?” Corrie asked, just as plainly.

Hayward didn't let that end it, although it took a moment for her to settle.

“It's different.”

“Everything is different from him. Why do you think I'm in love with him? Because he's a fucking quarterback?” she snapped, as her voice lowered to avoid attention. “I love him because there is no stereotype on the planet that fits him. Waking up next to him is like walking on fucking sunshine. He - he smiles, and he means it. No one sees that but me. I can't explain it, Cap, but - it's the real deal. And -“ now she was so real that she shook. “It's fucking terrifying. It's so terrifying, Laura, it is.”

“The boys are coming back,” Hayward said quietly.

“But you have to understand, I know what I signed up for,” Corrie pressed. “I always knew who he was.”

Laura smiled as she made eye contact with Vincent. “Your high school counselor should be fired.”

“He was,” Corrie assured her automatically.

And then his gentle touch graced her shoulders, soft and kind, and oh shit, did she love him so much.

“Cigar break over? That was quick,” Corrie grinned. “Hi.”

She let Hayward and Vincent flinch as she leaned into his kiss.

“Hello,” he allowed.

Corrie was so happy as she drank in his eyes, silver and deep and so stupidly gorgeous. “They think we're weird.”

“You don't have to exalt our oddity every time we dine out,” he fussed.

She ignored him. Forever.


End file.
